


Tides of Time

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-05-05 12:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14618768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: In the battle for Shipwreck Cove Jack Sparrow loses the only woman he ever loved.Somehow life goes on, and after drinking from the Fountain Jack becomes immortal.But if you live long enough, it seems everything has a way of making full circle.In modern day Jamaica a woman falls from the battlements of Fort Charles who bears a striking resemblance to the fallen Pirate King...





	1. Requiem For A Pirate King

**Author's Note:**

> My darlings! My dears, my beloved scallywags! I'm sorry I've been gone from POTC so long! Thank you for putting up with me and my side-jaunts into Amelia Peabody and Good Girls and my own original works...
> 
> I know I have like 5 million fics still waiting to be finished, but I was kinda in the mood for this and I hope you don't mind. :) You might recognize it from my "Sparrabeth Modern AU" outline I was making on Tumblr what feels like an eternity ago. I decided its finally time to write it out. Also, I haven't forgotten about those "rescue" prompts and I think I'm going to work some of them in here. XD 
> 
> So without further adieu...

# Chapter 1: Requiem for a Pirate King

 

_Above and below, the maelstrom raged, swirling and black with all Calypso’s fury. Rain pelted down, drops stinging like stones in the whipping wind. Sane men would have ducked for cover, turned tail and run, but a man or woman of that description could not be found within miles of this sea battle._

_Jack parried a blow from a fishman, his arm aching from the vibration, thinking it may have hurt less just to let the ugly bugger chop him in two. Again, again, and he was able to sidestep, twist, trip the fish and slice him from behind. **One down…fifty to go?**_

_“Jack! Look out!”_

_There was a clanging right next to his ear, and instinct told him to duck. Lizzy was there at his back, engaging another opponent, diverting a blow meant for him. Saved his head from getting knocked from his shoulders. He wished she would pay more attention to preserving her own skin and not his._

_They fought side by side, and with a sliding glance Jack noted the feral smile pulling her fine lips. A warrior in the comely shell of a woman._

_She was born for this._

_Could he have made a better choice in his vote for the King? That spreading warmth ambushed him once more, starting in his heart and fanning outwards. Pride?_

_Ha._

_Nice try, Jack Sparrow._

**_You love her._ **

_Annoyed, he shooed away the thought. It wasn’t where his head needed to be right now._

_Another opponent fell, then another. Almost as though they were winning? As impossible as those odds seemed. Then there was a cry beside him, the most awful sound._

_Lizzy._

_He turned to find a fish-monster with his sword buried in her side, blade slipped through the seams of her armor, her blood a watery crimson stain upon the deck. Without thinking he struck out, catching the beastie with his cutlass in the throat. The thing fell back onto the deck._

_Jack fell to his knees beside her. “Lizzy? No, no, darlin’, open yer eyes.”_

_Panic like a flashbang of ignited gunpowder ripped through him._

_Those eyes, those impossibly beautiful coffee colored eyes fluttered open. Those bright eyes that could see straight through him, through all his shenanigans and bluster, straight to his soul. Eyes that danced with laughter, that looked upon him with wonder in firelight. Eyes in which he had seen his death, and he had gone to meet it skipping all the way._

_The light was fading in those eyes._

_“Jack,” she sighed, groaning as he dragged her to the relative safety of behind some barrels. Her hand lifted to caress his face, her fingers clumsy._

_Cold._

_“Jack, I have to tell you something.” Her voice is weaker with every word._

_Now he knows fear. Fear like he has never faced before. Not the day Beckett branded him and burned his ship. Not the day the Kraken came to eat that ship whole. This—this is utter ruin._

_“No, Lizzy.” He takes the hand that is upon his face, pressing his lips to her fingers. He is shaking. “Tell me later, eh? I’ll be right back. You’re going to be **fine**. Hold your hand here. Right here.” He presses her hand to the wound in her side, and bless her, she tries._

_God, there is so much blood. It gushes around her fingers, eager to escape into the world._

_She smiles then. A small turn of lips. She is amused, and perhaps, she does not believe him._

_That smile will always haunt him._

_“Oh, Jack,” she sighs, closing her eyes. But she is still breathing, so he dashes off._

_The heart._

_The thump thump._

_He needs that repulsive pounding icky thing. It is the only way._

_He races for the other side of the ship, desperately searching for the whelp._

_Never should have given it to him._

_They had made a silent truce of sorts, he and Will. The boy would become the new Captain of the Dutchman, do right by his father, because the girl…wasn’t his anymore._

_Whose was she?_

_Jack’s? No._

**_Her own._ **

_No man could own a woman like that. But she could…she could **choose**. She was to be free to choose. Jack hadn’t been sure he wanted her to choose him, until that moment. That dire terrible moment in which everything was brought into excruciatingly sharp focus. _

_Never should have—_

**_It is done._ **

_In the blink of an eye, it is too late._

_Will has stabbed the heart, and Jones falls._

_The fish-men stop fighting. They shuffle towards the new Captain of the Dutchman._

_Part of the crew, part of the ship._

_The storm still rages on. The ship is shaking, as though it will come to pieces._

_Jack knows they have to escape._

_By the time he makes it back to Elizabeth she is still. So still. Deathly still._

_He does not think, not really, just grabs her up, making a parachute by way of a sail._

_He does not think, until his boots touch down upon the deck of the Pearl, and the Dutchman is pulled down into the eye of the whirlpool before their eyes. The seas calm. The storm ends._

_The nightmare has just begun._

_Jack falls to the deck, Elizabeth in his lap. He touches her face, willing her eyes to open. “Lizzy?”_

_There is no answer. She is limp in his arms. He knows, and yet still he pleads, “Love? Lizzy?”_

_She’s gone._

_She’s gone and a piece of him, a crucial piece of whatever it is that makes him human, has gone with her._

_Jack pulls her body close, and holds her tight. He does not know for how long. Minutes? Hours? Only he senses a change on deck, a silence fallen over the crew. A shadow falls over him, and Jack looks up to see Will standing there._

_The boy has changed. A massive red scar bisects his chest. Already he is different. Unnaturally serene._

_Unworldly._

_The new Captain of the Flying Dutchman kneels down, places a hand on Elizabeth, and a hand on Jack in solemn contemplation. They share this moment of mourning together over the woman they both love._

**_Loved_ ** _._

_How easy it is to admit that, **now**._

_Jack’s voice comes hushed, so hoarse he hardly recognizes it as his own. “Take me instead. You can do that now, can’t you? Just…just take me instead.”_

_Sadly, Will shakes his head. “I fear the time has passed for such deals, Jack.”_

_Jack’s dark eyes blaze, ever defiant of man’s rules, the Gods’ commandments, and even the natural laws that govern the world._

_“There’s always a deal to be made,” Jack insists._

_“Not this time, my friend. She has gone.”_

_A flash of something hot and black rips through Jack._

_Hatred. Disgust._

_That not even for **her** , will the whelp bend his precious code. Shirk his duty. Fudge **just** a little. Will looks as though he understands Jack’s anger, but is not affected by it. He kisses Elizabeth’s hand, and stands. The boy seems impossibly cold now that he no longer has a heart._

_“Give her a hero’s funeral, Jack. She earned that.”_

_Jack bowed his head, agreeing._

_Hiding._

_He could have told her that he loved her. He could have held her as she died. But he ran off in usual Captain Jack Sparrow style, unable to admit defeat, left her all alone in her last moments, and now he’ll never know what she wanted to tell him. He could guess, but he’ll never really **know**._

_Perhaps he didn’t **deserve** to know. He didn’t deserve **her**. Never had, really, but in his hubris he’d allowed himself to hope. And now? Now she’s simply **gone**._

_Later, with all of Shipwreck Cove in solemn attendance on the dock and the shore, they send her off in a small ship stacked with wood soaked with whale oil and pitch. Her body lays atop the pyre, serene in death, still dressed in her armor and clutching her sword like a warrior King from a Norse fairytale. Gold doubloons cover her eyes. Her pyre is festooned with mountains of flowers and offerings of rum._

_The latter was Jack’s idea. Their last little joke between them. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. His heart is a blackened ruin; a razed and salted battleground where he is certain no joy will ever bloom again._

_A single flaming arrow fired from the quay sends the boat up in flames, and Jack watches it burn with tears in his eyes he still cannot allow to fall._

_A hand squeezes his shoulder; surprisingly strong for such an old man. It is perhaps the first time Jack can ever recall Teague paying him any kind of sympathy. “She was a good woman, Jackie,” is all Teague can bring himself to say. He too had a fondness for the girl, and high hopes for the future of the Cove should she hold the throne after they have won the battle with Beckett and Jones. Hopes that were quashed, and now he feared Shipwreck city would continue its steady decline into obscurity, a rotting monument to a bygone age._

_In a moment of candor Jack sighed, “She was the **only** woman.”_

**_The only woman for him._ **

_There would never be another like Elizabeth Swann, the Pirate King. The world became impossibly darker, without her bright light to shine in it._

_Next, Jack seeks oblivion._

_There was nothing left for him in this reality anymore._


	2. Ain't No Bodhisattva

# Chapter 2: Ain't No Bodhisattva

 

Only once did Jack outright admit to Gibbs his reasons for seeking out the Fountain of Youth. They had been very drunk of course, and off the coast of Gujarat, where Jack had just returned from a presumably successful trip up a mountain [at least, a very large hill] to seek answers from a holy man, the name of which Gibbs could not even begin to pronounce.

“I’ll find her again, mate,” Jack had assured Gibbs, his words slurred through a copious amount of celebratory rum. “The wheel turns—everything goes in circles, and she weren’t no _bodhisattva_. She’ll be back.” Though Gibbs didn’t exactly know what the latter meant, such pronouns as _Her_ and _She_ could only mean one woman these days, and Gibbs had felt equal parts sympathy and hope for his captain. From anyone else such ramblings would have been dismissed out of hand as hog’s swill, but from Captain Jack Sparrow? The impossible was made possible as a mere day’s work, and Gibbs still held his faith.

“I certainly hope so, Cap’n,” had said Gibbs, patting his oldest friend on the shoulder. Jack had not replied because he’d fallen asleep—or passed out—on folded arms on the scarred table. It was Jack’s habit to drink himself to oblivion every night since the passing of their King, but that night was different. That night held a glimmer of _hope—_ Gibbs had seen it in Jack’s midnight dark eyes, and it was good to see that light in the Cap’n’s expression again.

 

* * *

 

 

**Port Royal Jamaica, Present Day**

 

It was a fine day in Port Royal. Nearly every day was, truth be told, hurricanes excepting. Though Elizabeth Swann was a precious memory Jack had stored on the back shelf of his heart long ago, a trick he’d learned to keep himself from going well and truly mad, he could not guide his treasure trawler past the crumbling ramparts of Fort Charles without a certain pang in the heart. Indeed, mayhap he did not have to cut it so close to the old fort when he returned from his treasure-seeking expeditions, and mayhap he could have saved himself the familiar ache—but he’d learned long ago that in the face of eternity it was good to remind yourself where you’ve been, or else you become unmoored.

Besides, there were always tourists up on the walls who would wave at the boats going by, and Jack was nothing if not a bit of a ham. He always waved back, delighted by the irony.

If only they knew.

The better part of three centuries past, Jack Sparrow never forgot about Elizabeth Swann. He found the Fountain of Youth to give himself time—and because he’s Captain Jack Sparrow—but for all his searching across the globe he never did find that girl in her form or any other.

He wouldn’t say that he _gave up_ , but for his own sanity he put that particular treasure hunt away for other endeavors.

A lone figure caught Jack’s eye, standing _upon_ the battlement, rather hanging back a bit like anyone close to such a sheer drop with any sense would. Skirts billowed in the wind—a _she_ , most likely, though these days he supposed one never knew. Despite the heat a chill ran down Jack’s spine, and he could not tear his eyes away.

Perhaps it was mere fancy, but she seemed to be looking back at him.

A cloud shifted from its position in front of the sun, the sudden flash of rays blinding Jack. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, and found the lass was gone.

His disappointment shifted to a gripping dread when there was a loud _splash_ at the base of the ramparts, and Jack simply _knew._

“Gibbs!” he bellowed to his first mate below. “Take the helm!”

Gibbs emerged from below deck in time to see his captain fling himself from the bridge in a swan dive, slicing into the blue water with hardly a splash. Unfazed, Gibbs dropped the rope he’d been coiling and climbed up to the bridge, reducing the trawler’s speed to a crawl as he watched Jack make fast time to something diaphanous floating just under the surface of the water. For one confused moment Gibbs reckoned it was a jellyfish, before he realized it was in fact _a person._

A feeling of Déjà vu crept down his spine, and Gibbs too felt a chill on this blistering hot Caribbean day.

Jack had her up above the surface in no time—there was no question that it was a _she._ Gibbs steered the boat as close as he dared to the sharp rocks that guarded the shore, turning the trawler so that Jack would have an easier time accessing the aft ladder.

Even sopping wet the willowy thing didn’t weigh much, and Jack hefted her over his shoulder so that he could get them out of the water. Without thinking he lay her down and went through the motions of that modern marvel CPR. It still felt like magic, and when she finally coughed up about a gallon of water Jack still thanked every sea god he knew. Some, personally.

Exhausted from the swift swim, he sat back on his haunches, and only then did he get a chance to look the girl over. Incredibly aside from swallowing sea water she seemed unhurt, the numerous rocks failing to take their piece of flesh. Her white dress—now translucent—clung to her every curve, and Jack followed the line of _very_ long legs to a lean torso, to a rather nice if not modest bosom, to an _impressively_ long neck, to a face…

Had Jack not already been sitting, he might have fallen down.

A face that had once launched a thousand ships.

Well, at least a good _hundred_.

Never a more _perfect_ face had ever been sculpted in the divine clay.

He hardly recognized his own voice, her hallowed name hushed on his lips like a prayer.

_“Elizabeth?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *a bodhisattva is like... someone who's soooo good, they're a saint and could achieve nirvana but hangs back to help others? So if you achieve nirvana you don't have to keep being reincarnated to learn your life lessons. Haha so Jack was saying I love her but no way was she perfect, lol, she'll be back...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and you know I love your comments! <3<3<3


	3. Pirate King Doppelganger

# 3\. Pirate King Doppelganger

 

Eyelids fluttered as slowly the woman returned to the world of the living. She’d been diving since she was a teenager, but never had she ever come so close to actually _drowning_. Swimming vision focused upon her rescuer, the sun shining behind his dark head like a halo. He was a vision of sun-bronzed whipcord muscle, an intricate life story written across his skin in black ink and scar tissue. Dark dreadlocks and sable waves fell to his shoulders, charms and baubles in his hair tinkling slightly in the breeze.

She fixated upon a tattoo over his heart, a fierce black swan with its wings spread wide. Unable to stop herself, drawn like a magnet, she reached up to touch this mark, his skin warm and firm beneath her fingers.

It was rare these days that Jack found himself actually _surprised_ , but her touch sent something like a live current down his spine. He gasped, and narrowly resisted the impulse to lean down and press his lips to hers, the way he _should_ have the last time he found himself in a position like this. Was it really almost 300 years ago?

By the skin of his teeth he reminded himself that this was in fact a _stranger_ , and giving in to such an impulse would be _crazy._ He didn’t really know this girl, no matter how familiar her exterior shell seemed. Even if some little voice deep down rejoiced with mad glee and insisted with dangerous certainty that she was meant for _him_.

Jack settled for clasping her hand in his, holding her against his heart as he asked like any normal person would, “Are ye all right?”

Slowly the young lady nodded.

Little did Jack know that suddenly she felt in the very bottom of her soul that everything was going to be fine.

“You know…if ye wanted to go for a swim there is a _path_ that leads down to the water…” Jack could not stop himself from teasing a little with a smile that flashed just a hint of gold.

She laughed right along with him, and coughed up another cup of sea water.

“I _fell_ ,” she insisted, gasping for breath, well knowing it was only half the truth.

What she did _not_ disclose was that she didn’t exactly remember _how._ One minute she was standing upon the battlements, too close to the edge, as she usually did in life. It was the most inconvenient time for one of her dizzy spells to overtake her, flashes of images and sound that felt like a disjointed movie flashing before her eyes.

_A hot day. She couldn’t breathe. A special sword. A man in uniform. A fine woman?_

Then she woke up on a boat with a man who rather looked like a pirate leaning over her.

Not bad for a day’s work.

She’d been having these _visions_ ever since she was a child. Somehow she knew they were pieces of a puzzle she’d never quite managed to put together. Sometimes they came to her in the day, and sometimes they were nightmares of battles and fish-men monsters. Sometimes there was a bonfire and a pirate song sang at the top of her lungs.

Her father, her dear _long-suffering_ father, of course had taken her to several doctors when she was young. One had been quite eager to put her on psychotropic drugs, and one wanted to try electroshock therapy, though the general consensus was that she simply had a _vivid_ imagination.

That was also true, of course, but in time she learned to keep kept her mouth shut about her visions, not exactly enthused to be poked, prodded, or labeled as stark raving mad. However, deep down she always felt these images came from a source outside her own free-wheeling imaginings.

Maybe someday she would understand…

A long moment passed in which Jack couldn’t quite bring himself to let go of her hand, and the young lady didn’t really mind. His grasp was strong, his fingers calloused. A sailor’s hands, no doubt, and there was a flutter in the pit of her belly.

At that moment Gibbs came flying down from the upper deck. “Mother’s blood, Jack! Is she all right?”

Jack’s first mate gave the girl a good once over, and his eyes flew wide with surprise.

Could it be?

After all this time?

But before Gibbs could make an exclamation that would betray their suspicions about this Pirate King Doppelganger, Jack gave his best mate a pointed look. After sailing three centuries together it was all Gibbs needed to understand, and dutifully he bit his tongue.

She turned to the older man, offering a watery smile. “I am quite fine, thank you.” She made an attempt to sit up, and nearly fell back again. Jack caught her before her head could crack on the deck, and his strong arms about her shoulders sent a spreading warmth through her that had _nothing_ to do with the tropical heat. She felt _secure_ in his grasp, and she knew such an intuitive impulse about a perfect stranger was completely _insane._

“Easy, darlin’. Maybe a trip to the hospital is in order, eh?”

However this woman had travelled the globe far and wide, and had learned to be wary of foreign hospitals if she could help it.

“Oh dear. I would rather not. I’m _fine,_ really.”

Jack wasn’t so sure he believed her, but he helped her to stand. That tattooed arm was firm and strong about her waist, and she considered feigning weakness just to keep it _a little_ bit longer. But she was stronger than she looked, and soon she was able to stand on her own power.

Something occurred to her, and she turned to the man who was obviously the captain of this fine rescue vessel. “How did you know my _name_?” she asked, her dark brows drawn in puzzlement.

Jack’s wide eyes momentarily betrayed him, before he offered a rather sheepish gold-glinting smile. “Erm—your name? ‘Fraid I don’t, love…”

“I thought I heard you say Elizabeth, earlier?” she insisted. She’d been half conscious, but the unmistakable sound of her name had drifted through the ringing din.

“Ah…think ye must have had some water in your ears.” He willed her to believe him, fingers crossed behind his back. Gibbs watched this charade with an eye-roll, and disappeared to fetch the poor lass a towel.

She paid Jack a considering look, and he remembered that feeling of being examined right through to the quick. He fought not to fidget like a naughty boy brought before the school master, and to not grab her up and slant his mouth over hers.

_Elizabeth._

He felt almost faint with glee, triumph and disbelief popping off like fireworks inside his breast.

_Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth!_

Surely that had to be some sign that the laughing universe smiled upon them?

“Well then,” she finally ceded with playfully narrowed eyes, a small smile pulling the corner of her mouth. “I’m Elizabeth Knight. How do you do, Mr…?”

Jack clasped her hand in his, and inwardly she sighed for the feeling of that strong sea-callused mitt upon her once more. “ _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, at your service, my lady.”

For a moment she was dizzy again, _that name_ ringing like a litany of bells through the shaded halls of her battered heart. Quickly she tried to shake it off, though not before she noticed Jack studying her curiously with a weighted midnight gaze. She had a feeling those eyes missed very little, very often, and her heart quickened in her chest.

Perhaps she really was going mad…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As you know by now, your comments make my day! Muah! <3<3<3


	4. 4. A Girl Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....you can thank [or blame :P] princesspenelopenerfherder for this! I've been off toiling in indie author land promoting a new book, but she gave me a little nudge and here we are. XD Thank you love!

# 4\. A Modern Girl Like That

 

It was a rare moment that Jack Sparrow felt nervous on account of a woman, but Elizabeth Knight was not your average bird.

 _She was_ his _Elizabeth._

He couldn’t stop thinking it, and he knew it was a dangerous hope. A thing to which he shouldn’t have clung too closely. For if it all went a different way…it would be the final straw for Jack Sparrow.

After all this time, he would go well and truly mad.

In thanks for saving her life Ms. Knight had invited Jack to dinner that evening. Eager as a puppy dog inside but somehow outwardly managing to play it cool, he had agreed.

Now he sat in one of the plastic chairs outside of said restaurant, a hole-in-the-wall dive that didn’t look like much but boasted the _best_ jerk chicken in Jamaica, in Jack’s opinion, and excellent seafood besides.

He’d even put on a clean white shirt for the girl with his shorts and flipflops, though he kept on his ragged red bandana. Over the years and through many incarnations the garment had become something like a security blanket for the old pirate, and he rarely took it off.

 _And you hope she’ll_ see _you._

That annoying if not accurate little voice kept piping up in Jack’s ear, and he knew that little part of his subconscious was perfectly right. In this modern age it was a part of him that bore some resemblance to the man he’d once been, and damned if he didn’t hope some latent part of Elizabeth Knight wouldn’t respond to that.

The hope was almost _paralyzing,_ to the point where earlier, looking at his reflection in the age-spotted mirror above his washbasin, he’d berated himself _not_ to lose his cool in front of this girl. The self-administered pep-talk had worked to a point, but even now he tapped the arm of his chair, filled with nervous energy and checking the wide face of his dive watch about every thirty seconds.

She wasn’t late, but there was a part of him that feared she wouldn’t come, because that was the way Jack Sparrow’s luck worked over the years. Fate allowed him a glimpse at the things he wanted most in life, but never let him hold on to them for very long.

More time went by, and then she _was_ late. Not by much, but enough to make the pirate’s black heart fall down to the pit of his stomach.

_She’s not coming. She’s gone back across the bay to Kingston, and you’ll never see her again mate._

Jack closed his eyes as he processed this disappointment, letting the wave of sorrow wash through his bones in silence, only his fist clenched upon his knee betraying that he felt like he’d taken a knife to the heart.

 _Well, what did you expect? A modern girl like that, and_ you _? Funny, Jack Sparrow. You always save the best jokes for yourself._

When at last he felt he could bear it Jack opened his eyes, ready to rise from his chair and go lick his wounds in private with a bottle of rum. The sun was setting in the west, painting the sky and shimmering water in magnificent shades of purple, pink, and deep blue. He shielded his vision with a hand over his eyes, and for a moment felt certain he beheld a mirage.

_She was there._

She was there, rushing along the stone-paved walkway wearing a rose-colored dress that did wonders for her sun-kissed skin and moulded against her long legs in all her haste. As she approached the setting sun framed her like a halo, and Jack could not help but leap to his feet wearing the surprised expression of a man who beheld a ghost, his own salvation, or perhaps both.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed breathlessly, coming to a halt before Jack, pushing her golden mane out of her face. “I’m so sorry! I went down for a kip and lost track of the time…”

When Jack said nothing she looked up with uncertainty, only to find him grinning like a fool, gold-capped teeth glinting brightly in the dying sun’s rays. My god, but he is handsome, she couldn’t help but think to herself. He shouldn’t have been. He should have been ridiculous, with that mop of dreaded out hair and his pirate’s bandana, gold teeth and sailor’s tattoos. He should have seemed like a caricature of Rasta mixed with some bygone age of buccaneers and wind-powered ships, but somehow he pulled it off. He was _genuine,_ she realized. In an age where everyone imitates _something_ and there are no more originals of anything, somehow she was certain that this man was a genuine article.

Of _what_ exactly, she had yet to determine.

“No worries, love,” said Jack glibly, as though he hadn’t just stood on the edge of despair not but five seconds before her arrival. “Have a seat. Want a drink?” He waved for the waiter and held out one of the plastic chairs for her.

“Thank you.”

As she seated herself Jack quipped, “You look _exceedingly_ well for a woman who nearly drowned today.”

She _looked_ bloody gorgeous, but Jack knew better than to come out the gate with that. Now that she was here, within reach of his eyes and possibly even his hands, he felt some of his usual confidence returning.

_She was here._

Perhaps the rest just might fall into place after all.

“And for a white knight you look like a perfect rogue,” she fired back across the table with a flash of white teeth, her eyes flicking up to well-worn headdress. “Keith Richards called. He wants his bandana back.”

Impervious, somehow _elated_ that they were sparring already, Jack answered, “I met Keith Richards once. “It was weird. He reminded me of my Dad…”

Elizabeth quirked one dark eyebrow, waiting for Jack to elaborate, but that seemed to be the end of the story. At least, the end of what he was willing to tell.

The waiter brought menus and Elizabeth ordered a rum punch. Jack found himself holding his breath as she looked over the laminated no-frills paper touting the restaurants offerings. Her posh accent suggested this might not be her scene, but rather than turn up her pert little nose she sighed contentedly as scents from the kitchen wafted out onto the patio. “Smells wonderful. So, what’s good?”

Some knot inside Jack relaxed at hearing that, and he told her she couldn’t go wrong with anything on the menu, though the chicken and fish soup were something to write home about. He found himself stealing glances over the top of his menu, and a thrill ran down his spine when he caught Elizabeth doing the same.

Their eyes met, and again that tension in his heart relaxed a little, those big molten-chocolate orbs positively melting his insides. When the corners of her eyes crinkled with a smile he felt downright _giddy_. It was ridiculous and sweet and it all seemed too _easy_ by half.

He _couldn’t_ let down his guard.

He _couldn’t_ muck this up.

For all his luck, Jack knew he would not get a _third_ chance if he managed to botch this opportunity. Slowly, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding since Elizabeth first picked up the menu.

To his great relief Germaine, their waiter, brought them more rum, and Jack resisted the impulse to ask for the bottle as they ordered their meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments, as ever! <3<3<3


	5. Say My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapters, I know! I'm following the outline I made on tumblr pretty faithfully and I liked the way the pieces were broken up, so....sorry not sorry? XD Anywho...hope you enjoy this installment!

# 5\. Say My Name

 

Over a rickety plastic table spread with heaping plates of rice, spiced chicken, fish and beans and fried bananas, Jack and Elizabeth sat and talked with surprising ease for two people who met under circumstances of such duress. Jack listened attentively as she told him about being the child of an ambassador, never staying in one place for long, and how the habit seemed to have stuck. Now she made her living as a freelance travel writer and adventure journalist, and had been published all across the board from indie travel blogs to Lonely Planet, National Geographic, and Condé Nast.

In turn Jack told her a bit about what it was like to be a treasure hunter, leaving out the less savory details. It was not prudent to admit openly on the street that he preferred to sell his finds on the black market when he could, rather than hand them over to the proper channels. The money was better, and in his long experience throughout history the concept of rightful ownership was subject to change with every new political tide.

He did what he had to do, as he had always done.

When their meal came to a close Elizabeth found she didn’t want to say goodbye. Speaking with this man was like picking up with an old friend after a very long absence, and she wanted to hold on to him just a _little_ longer. When she proposed they take an evening stroll Jack was all too happy to agree.

Elizabeth fought the urge to take his arm as they walked side by side by the water.

 _Easy there_ she scolded herself. _You’ve only just met this man._

She wasn’t a fool—she knew he would have been more than happy to let her, just by the way he looked at her. And yet there was something _extra_ in the way Jack paid her sidelong glances. Something _more_ than the usual appreciation she was accustomed to when a man set eyes on her—at least in the beginning.

That expression _almost_ looked like pain.

Feeling bold, perhaps with the help of the rum punch she’d consumed with dinner, she nudged him with her elbow. Beneath that white linen shirt he was quite _solid,_ she couldn’t help but note. But then that was no surprise. She’d seen what he looked like beneath that fabric, the lean corded flesh of a sailor embellished with tattoos.

When Jack inclined his head, trinkets in his dreads and braids tinkling, as though to say _What was that for?_ Elizabeth voiced, “You keep looking at me a _certain_ way, Captain Sparrow. What is it?” Again she felt that thrill upon saying his name, and somehow she knew the title was not to be forgotten.

Knowing exactly what she meant and finding himself thoroughly caught, Jack pressed him lips uncertainly. At this stage of the game his suspicions— _his hopes_ —seemed an imprudent can of worms to open just now.

“Nothing, love,” he deflected. “Can’t blame a man for lookin’.”

“Oh come now,” she needled. “I nearly died in your arms today. I think you could tell me a _little_ secret?” she teased.

Jack stiffened at her phrasing, remembering the instance in which she _had_ died in his arms. Or someone who looked _exactly_ like her. And talked like her, _acted_ like her. Something about the way she smiled—that cheeky flash of white teeth, those dark eyes glittering with mischief… For a moment Jack went back in time, to a desert island with a spit of a girl in naught but her chemise, the light of a roaring fire dancing upon her skin.

With a slight shake of his head Jack looked past Elizabeth to the water beyond, trying to clear his thoughts.

It didn’t work.

“You remind me of someone, is all,” he found himself admitting. “From a _long_ time ago.”

Elizabeth canted her head, intrigued. “Oh? What was she like?”

“She was like…” Jack paid her a half-smile tinged with sadness. Perhaps the rum made him bold too—slowly he reached up to tuck a stray golden lock behind her ear. “A beautiful hurricane.”

Just for a moment, Elizabeth allowed herself the luxury of closing her eyes, savoring the brush of his fingertips on her cheek. _Just one._ There was a note in his voice that tugged at her heartstrings, made her want to pull him into her arms and not let go.

Eyebrows raised high, she tried to make light, to chase some of that shadow from his eyes. “That sounds delightfully sinister.”

Jack laughed at that, also hoping to dispel some of the dark cloud suddenly hanging over. “Aye, doesn’t it?”

She should have let it go, but suddenly she just _had_ to know. “What was her name?”

Jack seemed to freeze in place, and she could tell she really hit a button this time. Instantly she regretted her inquisitive nature, her complete inability to see a personal line before blithely striding across it. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d ruined an otherwise magical evening with her questions, and as the silence stretched on she reckoned she’d really stepped in it this time.

However, much to her surprise, Jack smiled. It reached all the way to his eyes, making those polished obsidian orbs gleam with this woman’s memory.

“Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth Swann.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Thank you for reading and your comments, they make my day! <3<3<3
> 
> **Also, forgive the self-plug, but I was gone for a bit because I was working on indie publishing a book. If you like my writing and would like to know more see my profile.


	6. A Ghost From The Past

# 6\. A Ghost From The Past

 

At hearing that hallowed name Elizabeth _froze,_ and despite the balmy evening a chill marched down her spine, gooseflesh erupting across her arms.

The name meant nothing to her, and she didn’t know why it struck such a chord within her— _something_ , an indefinable place between her heart and her spine, positively thrummed like a tuning fork struck upon the table. It was similar to the gut reaction she’d felt upon hearing Jack’s own name, only… _more._

_Elizabeth Swann._

Perhaps it was the simply way Jack looked when he said it. Perhaps she wished she _could_ be this woman from Jack’s past who clearly had meant a great deal to him. He hadn’t exactly admitted it, but it was obvious that he’d loved her.

Jack watched her reaction with fascination, afraid to hope, and yet…

_Well, how did this bloody work anyway?_

Did he really think he could say the magic words and suddenly she would remember everything? He had no idea, but intuitively he knew he couldn’t force it. If anything were to happen, it had to happen naturally, or not at all.

_Not at all._

The possibility gave _him_ chills, and for a moment the world seemed to spin. He closed his eyes against the momentary maelstrom, this perfect of storm of need and desire, love and doubt—it was enough to make a man want to curl up into a little ball and hide from the world.

“Well…I am very sorry for your loss,” Elizabeth finally said, looking out over the water. For some reason in that moment it _hurt_ to look at him.

Though Jack hadn’t exactly intimated the fate of his long lost friend had been death, somehow Elizabeth just knew.

“Thanks.” Jack inhaled deeply, getting a nosefull of salt on the breeze and the clean fresh scent of the woman beside him. He detected an undertone of coconuts, her lotion perhaps, and something that was simply _her._ It filled him with an intoxicating warmth that had nothing to do with the memory of a long dead Pirate King, or even the rum consumed with dinner. It fell on Jack like an epiphany that here he was with a perfectly stunning specimen of the female sex, and whether she was the woman from his past who he longed for, or solely Elizabeth Knight, adventurer, travel journalist and Girl Who Falls From Forts—this was a perfectly fine moment to be in with her. In an attempt to pull his head out of his arse and change the subject he offered, “All in the past, love.”

Elizabeth paid him a smile that conveyed she didn’t exactly believe him, and Jack cleared his throat, searching for something to talk about that was _not_ loaded like a keg of powder fitted with a line of sizzling slow match.

“So, how long are you staying on?” he asked, afraid she would say the typical tourist’s ten day tour and then back to the grind of civilization.

When she answered, “Indefinitely,” Jack felt certain he’d heard wrong. Elizabeth worried at her lip, not entirely keen to admit all the reasons that brought her to this tropical paradise, even if she felt as though she’d known this man walking beside her all her life.

It had been a rough year for her, but she’d come to Jamaica for more than just the need of a little holiday.

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” said Jack playfully, winning a shy smile.

They continued to chat as they meandered, until eventually they arrived in front of Elizabeth’s hotel. It was that time of the evening to say goodbye, or at least goodnight, but Elizabeth found her heart _ached_ at the thought of letting this man go. She’d been fighting with the urge to take his hand all evening, and finally she found the courage to brush her fingertips against his. As though he felt the same Jack reached for her, and their fingers meshed like the most natural thing in the world.

Elizabeth felt herself blushing like a 14 year old girl, a thrill galloping down her spine.

“Would I be making a pest of myself if I asked if I could see you again, Captain Sparrow?”

The corner of that full mouth pulled in a gentle smile. “Would save me the embarrassment of begging, I ‘spose.”

Elizabeth laughed, a sound that was bright as the ringing of a bell, and Jack narrowly resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her silly.

“Very funny.”

“Who’s joking?” He fixed her with a look, and even though those dark eyes made her feel as though she was _melting_ inside, she was still certain she was the butt of the joke. “Have any plans for tomorrow?”

“There are a few other forts I haven’t flung myself from yet…”

“Ha ha. No more of that now, savvy? Tomorrow’s Sunday. Fancy a trip to Lime Cay?” It was a little island a few kilometers off shore from Port Royal where locals went to enjoy a lazy afternoon in the sun.

“That sounds brilliant. What time?”

 _5 am? Or, now?_ he thought, but bit his tongue. “10ish? We’ll go for a sail and then hit the island, eh?”

“A sail?” she asked, intrigued, clearly thinking that his boat was decidedly _not_ wind powered.

“Aye,” said Jack with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, clearly enjoying the moment of intrigue. “Meet me at Morgan’s Marina. Look for the ship with black sails.”

_A ship with black sails…_

Her grip tightened upon his hands, and for a moment she thought she would have another one of her dizzy spells. But Jack’s hold tightened upon her—he was real and steadfast before her, and it pulled her back into the present moment. “Alright, love?”

She nodded, flashing a quick smile, _willing_ him not to see the shadow in her eyes. “It’s been a big day.”

“Mayhap you should get some rest, then. See you tomorrow, eh?”

They paused, caught in the stasis between leaving and moving closer. Elizabeth found that not only did she _want_ to kiss him, something deep inside insisted that she _should._  It was a feeling she’d been fighting since he’d pulled her from the water earlier that day, and she opened her eyes to find him peering down at her.

Which of course, was _ridiculous_ for a man she’d only just met, even if he did save her life. Understanding all too well and equally wary of spoiling the magic, Jack pressed a tender kiss to her forehead that made her knees _weak._

“ _Later,_ ” he assured her, and that single word was filled with _so much_ promise.

She couldn’t remember the last time her future looked so _bright._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your comments, they make my day! <3


	7. Fate Unknown

# 7\. Fate Unknown

 

Alone in her hotel room, Elizabeth’s curiosity got the better of her.

She Googled the name _“_ Elizabeth Swann”.

She found no obituaries matching the name. Oddly, with “Elizabeth Swann” + Jamaica she _did_ get a hit on Wikipedia for an article about a former governor Weatherby Swann, who was deposed under unclear circumstances. His daughter, Elizabeth, was imprisoned for aiding the escape of an unnamed pirate. She herself disappeared shortly after, and her fate was unknown, or the records were lost in the earthquake and tsunami that destroyed three fourths of the city of Port Royal.

Naturally it was absurd to think that Jack’s Elizabeth could be _that_ Elizabeth…he would be hundreds of years old. Never mind the fact that he walked and talked like a pirate of the Golden Age…

Nevertheless, Elizabeth got an uneasy feeling when she read over the paragraph again, as though someone had just walked over her grave.

_Fate unknown._

What _would_ have happened to a young lady caught on the wrong side of the law in that day and age? Probably nothing good, and Elizabeth felt sorry for the girl. She liked to think that the Governor’s daughter escaped with her pirate, sailed away, and led a merry life of adventure and hi-jinx on the high seas.

It sounded like a bad romance novel, and she knew real life rarely turned out that way. Especially in the 18th century, women rarely got the happy ending they deserved.

The thought left her feeling very tired, like a lead weight rested upon her heart made of all the sorrows of all the women who had lived before her. She tried to shake it off, telling herself she was ridiculous, and finished her ablutions in preparation for bed. She’d had a big day, was all. Nearly died, _and_ met the most interesting, if not the most handsome, man on Jamaica all in the span of twenty four hours…

When at last she found sleep, she dreamed of falling.

 

**XXX**

Despite a restless night, Elizabeth awoke feeling excited for the day ahead. Upending her backpack upon the bed, she rifled through searching for just the right bikini. This was Jamaica, after all.

She’d brought ten.

Deciding on her favorite one, a swimsuit she’d had since her early twenties, (and yes she was proud that she still fit into it), she modeled it in front of the mirror, frowning at her reflection.

For some time now she’d thought the excitement of meeting a new man to be a youthful fancy _long_ behind her. She would be 32 in a month, childless and the ink on her divorce papers dried in just under a year.

Hadn’t she learned the hard way that this fool’s errand called love only ends badly?

Well…

She looked at her face up close. There were fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and despite all the pain of the just past year she liked to think they were mostly smile lines. She’d had a good life, hadn’t she? And might she even be so bold as to think she was still beautiful?

Her body was still lithe, still strong. _A good body._ A body that had taken her all around the world, to the tops of mountains and under the ocean as well.

Jack Sparrow seemed like the sort of man who could appreciate a body like that, and the free spirited woman who inhabited it too.

She reckoned that this could be a very good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As you well know by now, lol, your comments absolutely make my day!


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